


Brave the Road

by shotgunsinlace



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Hannibal, Dirty Talk, Drunken Flirting, First Time, M/M, The Wine Bottle, Top Will Graham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 13:56:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7174550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shotgunsinlace/pseuds/shotgunsinlace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A late night visit, a bottle of wine, and a conversation. Talking does, after all, lead to everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brave the Road

**Author's Note:**

> Someone on tumblr mentioned that braving I-95 was the true meaning of love, so here we are. This is also unbeta'd.

The phone goes off at two in the morning, Will swearing he had already seen those numbers on the clock before falling asleep some indeterminable time ago. He reaches for it without much thought, plenty certain of who it’s going to be on the other end.

“Text me the location and I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he says, closing his eyes for another five seconds. He doesn’t look forward to getting up, getting dressed, and getting behind the wheel of his car to stare at a body that may or may not be the Ripper’s. Of all things for Will to wish, he wishes that the man would kill on an average nine-to-five schedule.

“Your front door. Say, as long as it might take you to reach it.”

Will sits up, thrown into a loop as his brain takes a moment to catch up with the voice he hears. “Dr. Lecter?” He squints at his clock again, but the blue neon numbers don’t lie this time.

“At your service.”

A silhouette stands on the other side of the front door, and Will wonders how the dogs’ frantic pacing hadn’t woken him up beforehand. Ending the call without warning, he kicks off the sheets and makes his way over, opening the door with the same amount of confusion as when he first heard Hannibal’s voice.

“Is something wrong?” Will asks, a dozen thoughts and worries coming to life behind his eyes. He could have called anyone, someone closer to home, instead of driving all the way out to Wolf Trap.

In reply, all Will gets is a bottle of wine. Hannibal lifts it enough so that it catches the moonlight, and Will recognizes it as the one he had purchased earlier today. Or, yesterday afternoon, better said.

“It felt wrong to share it with anyone else,” Hannibal says, cradling the bottle to his chest.

“This couldn’t wait until a more suitable time?”

Hannibal looks down at the dogs pooling around Will’s feet, almost as if to hide the expression on his face. Whether hurt or embarrassment, he can’t really tell for both are so foreign to Hannibal’s usually impassive features. “Forgive me, but I simply wish to return the favor. In retrospect, this would have gone over better had I waited for an appropriate time.”

“It wasn’t a favor,” Will says, scratching the back of his neck. It feels warm. “It really was meant as an apology.”

“How was your date?”

Will blinks up at him. “Excuse me?”

“If memory serves, you mentioned the reason you couldn’t stay was because you had a date with the Chesapeake Ripper.”

Opening his mouth, Will thinks better of it and shuts it. Briefly wondering if he’s dreaming, he takes a quick look around the dark house behind him and finds everything as he’s left it. “You sound jealous, Dr. Lecter. And a little drunk, to be blunt.”

Hannibal’s smile is small, as the tip of his head. “Perhaps I’ve had a little more to drink than I intended. Yesterday’s events stirred up unpleasant memories, and I’m afraid I’ve used tonight's gathering as an excuse to overindulge.”

Stepping aside, Will holds the door open for Hannibal to come inside.

“Place is clean, but you might want to stay off the furniture. They’ve been sleeping on it.” If he sounds self-conscious, Hannibal doesn’t comment on it. He removes his coat and sits on one of the chairs anyway.

No stranger to these kinds of dark places, Will heads directly for the cupboard and pulls down two glasses. He considers offering Hannibal a cup of coffee instead, but this feels far too surreal for a sobering drink. Instead, Will walks over and takes the seat beside him.

The lights remain off.

Even when the dogs have settled back down, the space heater lulling them to sleep, neither of them speak. Hannibal serves the wine, and they sit for long moments, watching the moon as it disappears behind the treeline. Snow might fall soon.

Will recalls the conversation he and Hannibal had mere hours ago in his kitchen, about the patient Hannibal couldn’t save. The image of his hands drenched in blood is an easy one now, and Will can relate on a level that borders on intimacy.

“You saved a life today,” Will finally says, looking down at the black liquid in his glass. “I understand if that doesn’t exactly ease your mind.”

“It thrilled me to have you witness that.” Hannibal sounds like the confession shames him. “What fickle creatures we are, us humans.”

“How was the party?” The change in topic is as poor as it is cowardly. To think that anything regarding himself would thrill someone like Hannibal sets his hairs on end. “Must have ended early for you to get here when you did.”

“Enjoyable.” Not a lie, but also not an entire truth. “I’ve consumed enough gossip to last me a lifetime.”

Will snorts, the sound far too loud for their hushed voices. “Is that all that goes on in those parties of yours? Talk smack about the poor folks who weren’t invited?”

“Often, yes. Both a blessing and curse, but mostly amusing due to the pettiness of these individuals. Mrs. Patterson, for example, went on about how griefed she was that her cousin eloped to Venice without telling her. They’ve only interacted twice in the past ten years, and he owed her quite a sum.”

“Bet she doesn’t need the money back.”

“Not at all. Poor man took the loan to put himself through law school. Black sheep of the family for the longest of time.”

“Because of a lack of a degree?”

“Because of where his sexual preferences lie.”

“Ah.”

“She believes he’s eloped with a gentleman that doesn’t quite meet her standards. Not that anyone ever does.”

“You meet her standards, I’m sure. Otherwise she wouldn’t bother showing up at your place. Unless showing up alone is enough to give rank to the elite.”

“Modesty aside,” Hannibal confirms.

Will shakes his head, surprised at the looseness of Hannibal’s tongue. “Hard to imagine you bad-mouthing others.” Taking another sip, Will looks at him. “What’s the most awkward thing that’s ever happened to you during a dinner?”

Hannibal hums thoughtfully, leaning back fully and sinking deeper into the chair. He balances his glass over a knee, staring at Buster who twitches in his sleep. “Mrs. Komeda tried introducing me to her niece.” The suggestiveness in his tone is enough for Will to get what he means. “When that failed, she brought her nephew.”

The laugh that bubbles out of Will is unbidden, and he tries to hide it behind a fist. “I’ve heard rumors at the BAU that you’re the most sought after bachelor in Baltimore,” he concedes. “Price is an avid reader of the gossip rags.”

“Mr. Price shouldn’t believe everything he reads.”

Will nods his head as he debates whether or not to ask what he’s about to. “Answer only if you want to,” he starts, garnering an earnest look from Hannibal. “Why haven’t you settled down? You seem to have everything else in life sorted out. Pretty sure you could have anyone you wanted.” He briefly thinks of Alana, and the flirtatious nature of their relationship.

Hannibal considers him for a moment, but turns away before the scrutiny gets too uncomfortable. “Simple answer: I am preoccupied with other aspect of my life to consider courting someone.”

“Have you been in a relationship before?” At Hannibal’s smile, Will nervously bounces his knee. “We’ve only ever discussed me in the past and I’ve realized I don’t know a lot about you, so I’m sorry if I’m being invasive. This pretty much crosses all lines between doctor-patient relationships.”

“I’m not that interesting, Will. I can assure you.”

“I may have been wrong when I said that,” he says, sheepishly, “when we first met.”

“I’ve had my share,” Hannibal says instead, sounding delighted by Will’s admission, but otherwise his lack of elaboration feels more like a prompt for Will to continue.

“Both?” At Hannibal’s nod, Will echoes it. “I don’t know why I’m surprised.”

“Does that make you uncomfortable?”

“No, not really.” He wants to say that the strangeness that follows the revelation has more to do with his mind supplying images he doesn’t find appealing, but it has less to do with imagining Hannibal with a man, and everything to do with imagining Hannibal with anyone.

“No psychoanalyzing tonight,” Hannibal offers as a small comfort, and Will picks it up for what it is. “We’re simply having a conversation.”

Another round of wine is served and they’ve lapsed into silence again, Will’s thoughts dancing along lines savory and unsavory alike. There is something about tonight that doesn’t quite fit, too bizarrely different for it to be the waking world. It feels an awful lot like _friendship_ , but not exactly. Tonight reads like a prequel to something else.

“Does this change how you see me?”

“Not in any major way. You’ve always seemed privy to decadence.”

“You perceive me as hedonistic.”

“Tell me you aren’t,” Will challenges. “Wine, a late night drive, aimless conversation.” Alcohol always did give him courage, albeit the stupid kind. “And with a patient, to boot.”

Hannibal turns away from Will with the decency to look ashamed, but something about the gesture makes Will twitch. “I’ll show myself out whenever I feel the need to do something foolish,” he says, neither confirming or denying Will’s accusation.

The nearly empty bottle stands on the table between them, and Will can’t help the twinge of guilt he feels in his chest. Technically, he did start this. With the excuse of an apology, he choose to ignore the true reason why he drove more than an hour to Hannibal’s home with a bottle of expensive wine in hand. All Will wanted to do was see him.

“It’d be irresponsible to let you drive in your condition,” he says, hesitantly. “You can take my bed. I have an air mattress I can bring down.”

The feel of Hannibal’s thumb against the corner of his mouth is a shock he fears his system will never recover from. He doesn’t know the reason why, but the smooth pad rubs away what may be traces of wine. Stranger yet is when the thumb is replaced by a palm, and Will leans the side of his face into it.

“The idea of touch has been so saturated with sexual connotations that we often shy away from it,” Hannibal says. His fingers find their way into Will’s hair and he must agree with the statement, because while the gesture may be a dozen miles away from being sexual, the sensation of warmth other than his own against his cheek and hair makes heat coil in his groin. “Is this arousing you, Will?”

“If you intend to seduce me, congratulations.”

Hannibal’s laugh is airy and strange. It only just occurs to Will that he’s never heard it before tonight. “I assure you that I had no such intention. But I will confess that I have been plagued by the way you’ve looked at me these past few days.”

Placing his hand over Hannibal’s own, Will pulls it away from his face. He doesn’t release it, not even when he’s lowered them both to the table between them, his thumb caressing Hannibal’s knuckles.

Nervous energy flutters in Will’s chest, part of him hoping that Hannibal would push down the last of the professional barriers. The alcohol will serve its purpose to provide plausible deniability, even when the reality of the situation is that Will is stone cold sober.

“Of all people,” he says, feeling his face warm all the way up to his ears.

“Certain things are simply out of my power,” Hannibal counters. “You have got a lot to offer. Don’t ever believe otherwise.”

Will turns away fully, but doesn’t let go of the hand. Less coyness and more at a loss of what the fuck to do, he stalls. The idea that _Dr. Hannibal Lecter_ would set his sights on _him_ is too wild to process. It is also incredibly arousing, making him regret his choice to not put anything on when Hannibal came knocking. All he wears is a barrier of thin cotton that does nothing to hide his hardened nipples and stiff cock.

The hand pulls out of his own in due time, but Will still doesn’t have it in him to look at Hannibal who begins shedding his layers. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees him remove his jacket, followed by his vest. He strips down to his underwear and button down, and Will stomps on the urge to run away.

“We can share the bed,” Hannibal says, sitting on the edge of it. “I’m perfectly capable of behaving myself.”

“It’s not you that’s the problem,” Will says, trying his best not to grumble like a petulant child.

Hannibal pats the mattress beside him. “If all else bothers you, we can simply continue to talk until either of us falls asleep.”

Somehow, Will considers talking to be dirtier than anything else that might be fondled. Words have always been the cadence to which they’ve danced to, more sensual than the shedding of clothes. In part, Will shouldn’t be surprised to find them here. He figured it would have taken them a while longer.

Gathering courage, and not having to go far to find it, Will licks his lips. “Tell me about your first.”

“My first?”

The playful tone makes his dick jerk. Will clears his throat, looking at Hannibal steadily as he sits innocently enough on his bed. “Your first time. With, uh, another man.”

“Florence, Italy,” he says without missing a beat. “I was a penniless and impressionable youth. He was a robust gentleman much older than me. He took me to dinner, took me to bed, and put me through medical school.”

Will can’t help but gawk.

He pushes himself off the chair and crosses the living room in five long strides, perfectly aware of the picture he paints and not caring. Subtlety and modesty have been cast out. “How,” he clears his throat, “how did he treat you?”

Hannibal doesn’t shy away when Will comes to stand before him, knees almost touching. He looks eerily handsome in the dark, with only the moonlight casting strange shadows across the sharp angles of his face.

“Well enough,” Hannibal says with a teasing smile. “I lied to him, assuring him that he wasn’t my first. Call it youthful pride. As a consequence, he took it upon himself to erase all remnants of any other person who had laid claim to my body.”

“Was he rough?”

“Overly, but I quite enjoyed the sensation of being held down.”

Will has to avert his gaze, the mental image far too potent to handle.

“I recall the way his mouth tasted,” Hannibal continues, tone deliberately far away, despite his eyes being perfectly trained on Will’s face. “I still remember the way his hands felt on my hips, how it felt when he took me into his mouth.”

Will’s traitorous mind grants him the image of a much younger Hannibal beneath him, his body composed of soft curves and even softer skin. Will seems himself as he currently is, pushing the young man who could very much be his student down onto the mattress, spreading his legs and kissing his way up his spine.

Placing his hands on Hannibal’s shoulders, fingers softly touching along his throat, Will fantasizes about grabbing a tight hold of the column of his neck. He imagines the soft, breathless sounds Hannibal would make, if any, if he took him right now.

Too long pent up, too long without a human touch.

“Will.”

“I want to fuck you,” Will blurts out, ignoring the mortifying embarrassment that seizes his chest. “I want to fuck you better than he ever did.”

“There have been others since then.” The quiet quality of Hannibal’s voice urges Will on. “You may have been correct when you deemed me weak to decadence.”

Will’s hands tweak the salmon colored shirt collar, and allows his fingers to trail downward. They press against the smooth fabric over a hard chest, cupping pectorals as he would a woman’s breasts. It’s so very different, and he is unsurprised by the lack of unwillingness he feels. Will squeezes, rubs his thumbs over hard nipples as he watches Hannibal’s face closely.

“The strangeness of it will fade,” Hannibal says, leaning back on Will’s bed. With both hands behind him for support and legs spread wide, he looks like a prime example of elegant debauchery. “Give yourself time to see what you like.”

Will looks down to Hannibal’s lap, at the very real demonstration of masculinity that tents his underwear. Riding the flash of adrenaline electrifying his fingers, Will tugs on the waistband and pulls it down, exposing Hannibal to the cool air of the room.

With a sigh, Hannibal simply watches Will take him in hand with an unsteady grip. His fingertips trace veins up the underside, thumb and forefinger squeezing glands, spreading the white beads at the tip.

Will feels hot all over. Uncertainty makes him hesitate.

“Would this be your first, Will?”

“You know it is.” The answer is more forceful than he intends, but higher functions have begun to shut down. He doesn’t want to speak out of fear of losing his witt. “Is this fine?”

“I could take over, if you’d like.”

Will shakes his head, hand pushing lower to tease at Hannibal’s scrotum. The position is awkward, so he climbs onto the bed as well, with his knees on either side of Hannibal’s thigh. It spreads him more than he likes, making his erection impossible to ignore. His free hand drags up Hannibal’s chest.

“Have you ever eaten a woman?” Hannibal asks as his eyes dart between both of Will’s hands.

The words fall hot in Will’s gut, making his balls feel heavier at the sudden kick of lust they stir up. “Yes.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Yes,” Will whispers, leaning down but not quite depositing his full weight on Hannibal. Pushing a hand into his hair, Will ruts against him, the pressure of his crotch against Hannibal’s belly making him shiver. “I loved her taste knowing that I was the one that made her wet.”

Warm lips ghost over Will’s chin, exhaling warmly. “How does it make you feel, knowing that you’ve made me this hard?” Hands grab at Will’s ass, gently fondling him.

“Powerful,” is the first word Will can think of. “And really fucking horny.”

Hannibal pushes at him until he’s on his back, halfway propped against the headboard. A large hands covers Will’s groin, squeezing and rubbing in circles without much pressure until Will moans, canting his hips for more friction.

“Filthiest place you’ve fucked in,” Will demands, shamelessly humping Hannibal’s hand.

“During _Der Rosenkavalier_ in Berlin,” Hannibal begins, busying himself with removing Will’s boxers, “my date and his friend thought it would be a pleasant surprise to commit fellatio on me. Luckily, we had reserved the box for ourselves.”

Will is torn between a laugh and a groan when Hannibal leans down to suckle on the tip of his cock. “Twenty minutes ago you were saying you weren’t interesting.”

“I was quite disappointed to have missed the third act,” he adds as a mere afterthought, kissing his way down the shaft.

Covering his eyes, Will tries his hardest to keep himself from coming just yet. Hannibal’s mouth is too hot, too skilled at licking and sucking at all the right places. “You, ah, you’d rather watch an opera than have two mouths going down on you.”

“Sex is a mere mindless act when had with the wrong person. With the right person, however, much like the opera, it is an experience.”

Will blinks down at him, fidgeting on the edge of Hannibal’s mouth being so close to his cock. “What would you label this as?”

“Something entirely new and pleasingly unexpected.” Instead of his mouth, Hannibal takes him in hand. His grip borders on too tight, calloused palms milking pleasure out of Will in waves that shake his body. “I would like to feel you inside of me.”

The words are spoken so casually Will can swear he’s imagined them, if not for Hannibal moving away just enough to fully remove his underwear. Naked but for his shirt, Hannibal takes a seat on Will’s thighs.

Head bumping against the headboard, all Will can mutter is “Oh, fuck.”

He wonders if reality is slipping again, if this is just another hyperrealistic dream clutching on to his psyche. It would be easy to conjure up a Hannibal who is willing to go to bed with him, especially when the doctor has been the first person in years, perhaps decades, who has seen Will as more than just a specimen. Here, Will Graham is more than just a damaged man. He is someone to be desired.

“I don’t think I’ll last that long,” Will says, mesmerized by the way moonlight plays over Hannibal’s shoulders.

He does.

He simply watches once he’s given Hannibal the bottle of lube he keeps beneath his pillow. Clear liquid is poured and warmed between long fingers, and Will clenches his jaw at the sight of Hannibal reaching behind himself.

A loud sound startles him, a heavy weight over him he isn’t really expecting makes him blink, disoriented. A gasp escapes Will, a pleasured sound that nearly becomes a snarl once he refocuses on Hannibal above him, bouncing on his lap with a look akin to rapture written over his face.

Sweat gathers at his temples and he wonders how they got here so suddenly, how he lost his senses for however long.

It’s in the way that Hannibal looks at him that tells him he’s lost time. The darkness of his eyes as they consume the night around them confirms that Hannibal did not hesitate even then. And rather than disturb Will, it excites him.

“You’re tight,” he grunts, gripping Hannibal’s hips and pulling him downward with each upward thrust of his hips. He needs more. He needs to crawl inside him and settle in his heat.

“As you’ve said,” Hannibal murmurs, his own hand jerking his cock with every rise and fall of his body.

The squelch of their bodies is filthy music to Will’s ears. “Is it good?”

“Exquisite.”

“You’re taking my cock so good, Hannibal.” The full body twitch forces him to clench down on Will, breaking his line of thought. “Fuck. Oh, fuck, you feel so fucking good.”

Hannibal changes his bounce for a grind, flush against Will’s groin. He moves with a grace Will has never seen in a man, a sultry arch that kicks up fire in his belly and settle lower, hotter, until he’s gasping out Hannibal’s name like a prayer.

Will’s attention is brought back when Hannibal’s hand presses against his throat, the light pressure enough to make Will come.

The press of Hannibal’s mouth against his makes him sink into the mattress, body boneless, and mind blissfully blank but for the sensation of being inside of Hannibal still, along with his cum.

Warm lips continue to kiss, surprisingly chaste in comparison to what’s just conspired. That is, until Will opens his mouth and allows Hannibal to lick his way inside. The kiss quickly becomes wet and heated, bordering on desperate, as they taste the remnants of wine on each other’s tongues.

“Will Graham,” Hannibal says, laughing quietly as he pulls away, “if your intention when you brought me that bottle was to seduce me, you have promptly succeeded.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://celestialparadigm.tumblr.com/)


End file.
